


Havens of Sirion

by Houseofhaleth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Falathrim, Gen, Moriquendi, Peredhel, Sindar, Sirion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:36:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houseofhaleth/pseuds/Houseofhaleth





	1. Chapter 1

When the refugees from Doriath arrived at the mouths of Sirion, they didn’t stand out much from the crowd. If you were in Sirion, you’d almost certainly fled there from somewhere. Everyone had their story. It would have been easy for them to be swallowed and ignored.

  By the look of her, the girl on the rock (arms folded tightly across her body) would have loved nothing more than to vanish, and be forgotten, and forget. But _“Doriath”_ was all the whispers in the streets, because for almost as long as there had been elves spread out from Cuivienen, there had been Doriath, and it had been unbreachable. And now it had been broken – _and not by Morgoth._ Some of these people had dreamed of some day being allowed inside the Girdle of Melian, where they’d be safe. And now – hard as it was to believe – it was gone.

  Annael could tell they were from Doriath, the girl and the pair of guards with her. Or at least, he could tell they were new arrivals. The men still held themselves like soldiers, but as he watched, one of them realised he was standing to attention – and shifted, self-consciously. They had no army, no orders, no homeland to protect any more, and everyone knew it. The stance of a defeated soldier was a familiar one in Sirion.

  He was jerked out of his contemplation when he realised the other one – the one that still walked tall, a Sindar elf with an ancient longbow – was heading towards him.

  ‘Welcome to Sirion,’ he greeted him. The elf didn’t smile.

  ‘That obvious?’

  Annael shrugged. ‘We were all you at one point.’

  He wished that were true. He wished he’d been able to stride through the town, meeting people’s eyes without shame. He wished he hadn’t left so many back west, on the field of the Nirnaeth – or worse, dead at the hands of the Easterlings.

  ‘I’ve been told to look for Annael, at the tide pools.’

  Annael blinked. ‘Really?’

  ‘These would be the tide pools.’ The soldier (almost certainly more than just a soldier, he had the air of a commander, and was dressed better than most refugees) looked along the beach. ‘I’m told.’

  ‘And I’m Annael,’ Annael admitted. He had a growing suspicion who had recommended him, and why. He held out a hand, and the elf clasped it, firmly.

  ‘I’m Oropher, of Doriath. Forgive me, I wasn’t told where you were from, Annael?’

  Annael looked at him wordlessly. For you that might have an obvious answer – you’re from Doriath, you’ve been from Doriath for thousands of years - _you haven’t left Doriath for thousands of years._ ‘I…was born up around Lake Mithrim,’ he said. Should he recount all the other places he’d made his home, ending with Sirion? Being born in Mithrim didn’t mean he felt like he was _from_ Mithrim. Although it would do.

  ‘And you’re a veteran, I hear.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Annael. ‘Of the Nirnaeth.’

  The silence was filled with the gulls, and the voices of the children fishing in the pools. Perhaps he should still be angry that Doriath, in all its ancient strength, had sent a total of _two_ warriors to the Fifth Battle. As if being angry would help. He broke the silence – ‘you don’t seem at ease here by the sea.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Oropher, flatly. ‘But…well.’ He waved back over to the rock.

  The girl’s age was difficult to judge – her face was round and smooth, with large eyes – but her expression was solemn and knowing. She hadn’t moved a fraction since he first spotted her.

  ‘Círdan said you were good with the children down here, and might speak to her,’ said Oropher, awkwardly. ‘He sent word that he’ll come for a time, but there’s work to be done in Balar, so…’

  Both of his suspicions confirmed at once. ‘I’ll…certainly I’ll speak to her, if you want me to,’ he said. ‘And you’re welcome to bring her down here to the pools – this time of day is best. Some of the orphans team up to collect different things that get washed in – fish, crabs, shrimp, shellfish – and sell them up by the docks.’ He’d – somehow – found himself organising this, and helping to mediate any disputes _(it had my line in its claw, Annael, and he grabbed it, but it had my line in its claw!!!)_ and talking to those who were at the pools in body only, mind elsewhere, staring into the middle distance.

  ‘Isn’t that one…that one’s not an elf child,’ said Oropher, pointing.

  ‘No,’ said Annael. ‘Plenty of them aren’t, it’s a mix.’ And perhaps that was one reason he’d fallen (been pushed) into this job. He had experience caring for a child of a different kindred - and realised that children are children. Although that particular child was long gone.  ‘I shouldn’t think it will matter, will it?’ he said, looking back at the girl, to get the golden-haired boy with the ready grin out of his mind. ‘If she’s who I think she is, then her grandfather was one of the Edain – wasn’t he?’

*****

  She glanced at him as he sat beside her, and her arms tightened around her. She was actually clutching a small box, but he made sure to pay it no attention at all. ‘Welcome to Sirion, Elwing of Doriath,’ he said.

  She didn’t reply. He wondered if he shouldn’t have said “Doriath” at all. But worrying too much about the right thing to say was useless, he’d found. It rested on the assumption that there _was_ a Right Thing To Say that would make it all better. And of course there wasn’t.

  ‘I’m Annael. Of Mithrim,’ he added. ‘But of Sirion, now.’

  He wasn’t too surprised when she didn’t say anything to that, either. They watched the children in the pools. ‘They came here to work,’ he told her dryly, as there was a shriek and a splash. ‘Or so they say. Some work, they find fishing a good distraction. Some need the time to play and forget everything that way. And usually, they manage not to interrupt each other…’ another splash followed by a roar of laughter. ‘It’s alright. There are strict rules about who gets pushed into the pools and who does not. I’m top of the list of people who do _not.’_

  She hadn’t moved away from him, but she wasn’t looking at him. And why should she? A complete stranger, a man, trying to interest her in a place she didn’t want to be, when she had many far more important things to distract her. Her mother and father were dead. She’d had two little brothers, the rumours said – they hadn’t come to Sirion. He knew what that meant.

  ‘You remind me of someone,’ he told her.

  That, at least, caught her attention.

  ‘She was older than you. But you look a little like her. She…well, she had lost a lot too.’

*****

  _When they’d first found her, she didn’t have a clue where she was – she was trying to get to the battle field, she said, but had lost her way. She hadn’t said much else – hadn’t denied she was with child, that she was one of the Edain, but hadn’t answered any other questions for several days. They’d taken her in as one of their own – what else could they do?_

_There was a tiredness in her that no rest could cure. She wasn’t tired of walking – she was tired of hoping, tired of believing, and tired of loving. She said, often, that as soon as the child was born and she could travel, she would go to the battle field, and find the child’s father. They’d asked her how old she was. If she were an elf, she would still be a small child herself. And you don’t dash a small child’s hope like that._

_When her son was born, and she named him Tuor – the name his father Huor had chosen before he left for the Nirnaeth – she declared that she was going to leave. It had been Annael, the only one there who had been at the Nirnaeth, who had told her._

_He had left too many people behind at the hill of the slain. And all he could do for their children was to send them west (in fact he’d reunited with most of them here in Sirion). He told her what had happened to Huor, son of Galdor._

_She said nothing. That night, somehow, she slipped away from all of them and vanished. Her trail headed towards the battle field. Perhaps his words hadn’t had any effect at all – although he couldn’t forgive himself for them, even today._

_He couldn’t be certain, but he believed he’d been the one to rob her of her last hope. If she’d had a shred of hope – she would have taken Tuor with her._

*****

‘Her name was Rían,’ he said. ‘In fact, she was kin of your grandfather Beren.’

  Elwing stood up. ‘Oropher,’ she called. ‘I’m tired.’

  Annael kept his expression neutral, as his insides clenched and unclenched. There may not be a right thing to say – but some things were more wrong than others.

  Although his worst fear wasn’t crushing her hope. It was that she might not have any hope to crush.

*****

  It had been too early to have her at the pools, surrounded by shouting and splashing, introducing her to strangers. She’d barely been in Sirion a week – she needed to adjust, be with people she knew first.

  Some days later, he invited Oropher to walk with him by the river – away from the sea. Oropher accepted, but brought Elwing along. She was wrapped in a fine, thick cloak – grey, like her great-grandfather’s namesake, and Annael had to wonder, from the size (it was folded up several times to keep it from trailing) and the way she held it around her, if it hadn’t in fact been Thingol’s. Perhaps it was one of the last treasures of Doriath saved, thrown around her as she was rushed away…he guessed she was still holding the box under there.

  She didn’t speak, but Oropher asked plenty of questions about the road east. Which route would he recommend, in getting to the Blue Mountains? How would he pass them? How big a group was too big, and how many too small?

  Annael answered with what he knew, and added the names of people who’d travelled that way more recently. He also added that getting to the Blue Mountains alive from here was enormously unlikely, without going far to the south. Oropher didn’t look surprised to hear this.

  ‘Celeborn and Galadriel headed more south than east, in the end. But I think they will’ve made it.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Annael. ‘Forgive me, from your questions I thought you were planning to travel east yourself.’

  Oropher looked at Elwing out of the corner of his eye, and Annael understood. He wanted to run east. But he couldn’t go until he was sure Elwing was safe.

  It was hard to tell if she’d noticed – she walked quite a way behind them, still swamped in the grey cloak. Her attention was caught by four large white birds on the water.

  Annael wandered back to her. He opened his mouth – and was stuck at the first line. What should he address her as? She was the daughter of the King – was she used to people calling her just… “Elwing”?

  “Elwing of Doriath” might be wrong now, and “Elwing daughter of Dior” or “of Nimloth” almost certainly was. But there might come a time when this was exactly the right thing to call her – when remembering who she was, was important.

  He called his foster son “Tuor son of Huor” from time to time, for just that reason. So that he would remember who he was, and feel some pride and connection to his heritage. Because Annael didn’t know how to begin to bring up a child as one of the Edain would – he didn’t know what the differences might be. All he could do was bring him up as his own son. And that was the other reason he would call him “son of Huor” sometimes – to remind himself that the little six year old he wrapped in their least patchy blanket, and settled close to the fire, was not his own son. And that some day he might have to let him go back to his own people, and he shouldn’t get too attached.

Sometimes instead of lying down to sleep the boy would climb into his lap, and ask “Will you sing to me, Annael?”. When Annael did, Tuor’s face would light up as he rested his head against the elf’s shoulder – then Annael would have to finish off his song, and say “and now, Tuor son of Huor, it’s time for sleep.” Because when the boy wrapped his arms around Annael’s neck and kissed his cheek, then he had to try and remind himself that Tuor wasn’t his own son.

  Although if he had a son, he didn’t know what the difference would be. And he had to admit to himself that calling him “son of Huor” had never really made him stop thinking of Tuor as his.

  But in herding all his people away during the attack, he hadn’t been able to stand by his boy, hadn’t been able to drag his fearless Tuor west, and the Easterlings had taken him who knew where. He’d wanted to go after him, but how to find him? What to do alone against so many Easterlings, when his people needed him to lead them?

  In the end, it had been the memory of Rían that stopped him. The memory of what it felt like to be left behind when someone walks away from you into death (because that was what would happen. Only one person had ever found the one he sought still alive in the enemy’s hands, _and_ had an Eagle of Manwë swoop down to help him escape. And that person was dead now too).

  Elwing had caught up, and still having no answer, Annael skipped greeting her at all.

  ‘You’ve noticed the swans?’

  She nodded, eyes still fixed on them.

  ‘The swan is my token,’ he said. ‘I would say, the banner of my house, if I had a house, and if we needed banners.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘There were many at Lake Mithrim,’ he said. ‘The water’s edge on the northern side was clogged with twigs and feathers, where they made their nests under the trees. Have you seen them before?’

  ‘I’m not sure…’ she said. ‘Can they fly?’

  ‘Certainly they can fly. Not quietly. They’re not really built for stealth. They often fly in groups, in “v” shapes, I’m not sure why. You’d see – and hear – them of an evening in Mithrim.’

  They watched the swans as they continued to walk slowly up the river. One nibbled at its wing, but none of them obliged by taking flight.

  ‘I like to see them here,’ he said. ‘And I like to remember Mithrim. They’re…probably not there any more, at the lake. Even if I could go back, it won’t be the same. But I like to remember it.’

  A long time after he’d stopped waiting for her reply, she murmured: ‘Why do you want to remember it.’

  It wasn’t a question. Even if it had been, he wasn’t sure what he could answer – not a right answer, or a wrong answer, or any answer, once he’d caught sight of the frighteningly familiar look of _tiredness_ on her too-young face.


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually Elwing started to come down to the pools, every other day – more because she was firmly led there than because she chose to come.

  Annael usually found himself pretty busy there, and didn’t always have time to speak to her. Some of the children - many of whom had come out of situations no better than Elwing’s – had too much anger and fear to deal with on their own. They had to express it somehow, and so they were angry with each other. Several times each morning, Annael found himself with his arms wrapped firmly around a furious, screaming child (mainly to stop them lashing out) and trying to calm them down.

  There were also the children who sat by the edge of the pools and stared in. They shrank into themselves rather than exploding out, and they became very good at avoiding attention – that was how they defended themselves. When he wasn’t talking someone down, he’d look for the children it was hardest to see, and try and make conversation with them.

  Elwing was this second kind. She learned to participate in the fishing just enough that he would go and find someone else – someone who was staring into space, or seemed otherwise lost in thought, and check they were alright. When he spoke to her anyway, she replied just enough that while he struggled to find things to say without really forcing the conversation, he couldn’t just talk, as he might with a child who didn’t answer at all.

  And he didn’t force it. If she wanted to be left alone, he made sure she was – but he made sure she knew that as soon as she didn’t want to be alone, she didn’t have to be.

  He wished he could do more. He’d seen Círdan, a few times, sit beside someone (adult or child). A few hours later, Círdan would have his arm around their shoulders, and he’d be outlining the first steps toward their healing. Annael had no idea what the Halls of Mandos would be like, but he sincerely hoped they’d be like sitting on the sea wall and talking to Círdan.

  But he wasn’t as old as Círdan, and hadn’t met as many people. He didn’t have the almost uncanny insight into people and situations that Círdan had. But someone had to look after these children – someone who could stay calm, and who understood them. Maybe even someone who would keep coming back, even after being hit in the mouth by an elbow yesterday and kicked in the shins the day before, because the children needed stability – they’d had little enough of that. So it required someone who would keep coming back. Even if it was because one orphan child never would come back, and he felt he owed him.

  One grey morning, something was different about her. For one – nobody had forced her to come. She sat partly hidden from view – but not well enough, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to be found.

  Annael beckoned one of the older girls over. She’d been one of the worst troublemakers, until he worked out that she absolutely flourished when given a clear task to do, and was showered with praise when it was done. ‘Illiwen – keep an eye on those two for me? If they start to get angry, send someone fast to fetch me. Don’t touch them yourself, just make sure any of the smaller ones are out of their way. Alright?’

  ‘Alright,’ she said, folding her arms.

  ‘Thank you. I know I can trust you.’ Or at least, he knew telling her that helped her to remember not to lose her patience and just start hitting if things got out of her control. As long as her task was clearly defined and achievable, she didn’t panic.

  He’d had soldiers like that serving under him. But he wasn’t sure yet if he’d ever met anyone like Elwing. Climbing over the rocks, he made his way to where she was sitting, fiddling with something in her hands. As he got closer, he saw white flakes floating down from her fingers – flowers. She had a large bunch of flowers. And she was shredding them.

  Annael sat beside her – not too close. He looked down at the petals around Elwing’s feet.

  ‘You picked some flowers?’ he asked.

 ‘Someone gave them to me,’ she said.

  He’d assumed that, but he’d been hoping she’d say who. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She plunged her hand deep into the bouquet, made a fist, and ripped it out, scattering leaves. Did she really not know? Annael considered what to say next, when she spoke again. ‘They said I would like them. Because they knew these grew in Doriath.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, understanding dawning. ‘I see.’

  Elwing dropped the handful of stems, and crushed the remaining flowers into the rock with her heel. ‘They said I could remember home.’

  Annael winced. He watched her stamp the battered leaves into the ground, and then stoop to grab a handful of blooms which had escaped mostly intact. Not good enough, apparently. She began to rip them apart, fingers working and working until there were no more flowers. But there was the box, on her lap.

  Without warning she flung it hard against a rock, and it dropped into one of the pools. _‘I don’t want to remember.’_

There was a strange silence around them. The other children had given them space, and the sea still rolled, but it all sounded muffled somehow. Elwing’s hands were shaking, fingers twitching as if she needed something else to tear apart.

  Cautiously, Annael reached out to cup her hands in his. She didn’t resist. He’d once seen a boy start to rip his own hair out, and tear at his skin. He didn’t think she would…but then he _really_ hadn’t expected her to throw the box away.

  She was looking at it, where it lay on the bottom of the pool. It had fallen open, and…

  ‘It’s not the silmaril,’ she said.

  ‘No. Of course not,’ he said. _Although he’d wondered…_

‘It’s just the key to where…I hid it.’

  ‘I see,’ he nodded. ‘Do you want me to fetch it out?’

_‘No,’_ she said. ‘I don’t want it back. Doriath isn’t coming back. They’re not coming back and I don’t want to remember them…’ she was crying now.

  Annael picked her up, and carried her over to the other children. He directed two of the older ones to hold her hands, while he fished the key and the box out of the pool – thankfully it was a shallow one.

  The children understood – not all of them were ready to offer comfort to someone else. But when he came back, a boy who still had a black eye from his fight yesterday was hushing her and gently stroking her hair. ‘We all cry. It’s ok,’ he was saying.

  Annael recruited him to come with them, as he half led and half carried Elwing back to where Oropher was staying.

*****

  He was afraid she wouldn’t come again, now she’d unwillingly shown her feelings to him. And she didn’t, for a few weeks, until the day she appeared looking very sulky and led by Oropher. She seemed to relax a little when the other children greeted her as if absolutely nothing was different. And it wasn’t. Sometimes people cried, and sometimes they didn’t feel like fishing for a few weeks.

  ‘Good morning, Elwing,’ said Annael.

  _‘Annael he’s doing it again after you told him not to look he’s still doing it-’_ someone shrieked.

He didn’t get another chance to speak to her, but he did notice Oropher had placed himself meaningfully on a rock nearby, to make sure she didn’t run for it.

  ‘Are we going to sell the shrimps to the new people?’ one girl asked.

  ‘There aren’t any new people, they’re always saying there’s new people coming-’

  ‘But my Da goes upstream and he says-’

 ‘He’s not your Da and he’s wrong.’

  _‘Hey!’_ An older child snapped. Annael didn’t even have to open his mouth. ‘You aren’t to say who’s her Da and who isn’t-’

  ‘But she calls at least _six people_ her Da -’

  ‘That’s her own business! Anyway loads of people are saying there’s a big group of new people coming. Right Annael?’

  Annael shrugged. ‘That’s what they’re saying.’ The rumours had only started this morning, but they’d spread in such a way he suspected they came from more than one traveller upstream, who’d run into the advance party from the group. This was how it had happened when the Doriathrim arrived, anyway. He wasn’t sure if Sirion could manage another influx like that. But it always seemed to. Some moved on to Balar, some spread up the coast, some just merged into the group.

  They were beginning to call it a day, and sort out their catch, when one of them made a noise of disgust. ‘If Illiwen thinks she can run up here at the last second and get a penny like the rest of us, she’s wrong.’

  Annael glanced up to see the girl running full tilt towards the group – something about the urgency in her pace made him stand up. ‘Illiwen?’

  She skidded in the sand in front of him, her chest heaving, and one arm flapping – beckoning?

  ‘Annael…come…’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s…’

  ‘Annael’s helping us, find someone else,’ one of the younger ones grumbled, but Illiwen shook her head furiously.

  ‘Annael…the new people…they’re saying…’

  ‘It’s alright, wait until you’ve got your breath back,’ he said. ‘Sit d-’

  ‘NO! They’re saying they’re led…by a man called…Tuor son of Huor.’

  Several of the orphans stopped what they were doing and looked at him, eyes round. He hadn’t kept it a secret. They knew.

  ‘There are lots of rumours,’ he said. ‘Some people are even saying they’ve come from Gondolin-’

  ‘They’re _all_ saying it!’ Illiwen snapped, cheeks flushed.

  ‘But, Illiwen – listen, sit down, you’re exhausted – it can’t be my Tuor. You might have heard wrong-’

  _‘I didn’t hear wrong! You know I didn’t hear wrong!’_ she yelled.

  ‘But he’s…he’s dead, or the Easterlings-’

_‘How many sons did Huor have called Tuor!’_ the girl screamed at him, almost making him take a step back. ‘You know it’s him you’re just too scared to believe me!’

  ‘I’m not sc-’

  Someone took his hand. It was Elwing. ‘It’s alright,’ she said. ‘We’ll come with you and check.’

  There were lots of voices of agreement, and before he knew it, his other hand had been grabbed, the shrimps and crabs were forgotten, and he was being propelled forward.

  ‘But the crabs will escape-’

  ‘Stop talking,’ said Elwing, fixing him with a stare. In surprise, he did. He kept pace with them as they jogged through the streets (attracting a few stares and more than a few followers), heading out to the road. The streets were busier, they had to weave their way through – the children frequently forgetting that he couldn’t weave quite like they could and backtracking to drag him through. This is embarrassing, because it’s not going to be him, and I’m going to be pushing my way through for nothing… _is that why I’m afraid? Because of course he won’t be there. I didn’t rescue him. He won’t be there and I’ll have to tell the children that people don’t come back._

At least they couldn’t argue with the rumours of newcomers any more – as they reached the outskirts of the town they could see them, still a huge line of them coming down the road, with everything they’d managed to save. The well-known trudge of defeated soldiers, more children, more women and older people – this had been another civilian settlement, not a band of outlaws. A _huge_ village…was this even all of them?

  ‘What does he look like? Does he look like you?’ one of the boys demanded in a businesslike way.

  ‘N…no, he…’

  For a second the world wheeled as he caught sight of a golden haired child among a knot of people, talking seriously to some of Círdan’s people. The boy caught his eye and for a moment-

  No of course it wasn’t, Tuor was a grown man now. No, no it wasn’t because Tuor was dead, he-

  ‘ _Which of you is Tuor son of Huor!’_ one of the orphans roared, making him jump almost as much as the little blond boy, who immediately looked over his shoulder. Other children took up the cry, even Elwing, until Annael cringed and was almost ready to pull his hand out of Elwing’s and run – she seemed to know though, and was holding him very tightly.

  Then a slightly confused looking man in well-fitting armour pushed his way through the crowd. ‘I’m Tuor, son of Huor.’

  And he was.

  He was slightly taller, and his hair longer, but the way he froze in shock, blue eyes widening, brought back a flood of memories.

  ‘ _Annael…_ ’ he said, as if he wasn’t sure he was seeing things right. A woman just behind Tuor gave him a determined shove, and he stepped forward.

  The last time he’d seen and touched his foster son had been moments before the Easterlings arrived – checking his mail shirt, and the strap of his helmet, and squeezing his shoulder and telling him not to be an idiot. Tuor’s shoulders were slightly higher now as he wrapped his arms around them – the armour beneath was solid and cool and real, and Tuor – his Tuor – was alive, and crushing his ribs in a hug.

  ‘Annael, I didn’t…even know if you were alive.’

  He found his voice, with difficulty. ‘I didn’t know if _you.._.the Easterlings, they…’ _I didn’t come back for you._

‘I escaped,’ said Tuor.

  It was all either of them managed for a time, although he had a thousand questions, and Tuor probably did too. They held onto each other until each was sure the other was really there.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a strange few days, as he gradually got the stories from his foster-son – in the wrong order, interrupted by explaining his own story, and meeting Eärendil, and Idril and Voronwë. How had he left his boy certain that he was dead or a thrall – and found him, married to the princess of Gondolin, and with a child of his own?

  He didn’t get to see the orphans for a few days. Perhaps it was for the best – some of them might not want to see him. Some of them had combed the crowd of newcomers for their own lost family. Of course, they hadn’t found them. Nobody except a tiny handful entered Gondolin, and now nobody ever would again.

  Eärendil seemed pleased to meet him – although a little hesitant, which Tuor said, afterwards, was out of character.

  ‘It’s too soon after he’s lost so many,’ Annael said. ‘I’ve seen children like this. They usually end up alright, especially brave ones like him.’

  ‘Really? I don’t know how to…will you help?’

  ‘Try and stop me. He’s my son’s son.’

  Tuor’s smile of relief was golden.

*****

  It was some time before he managed to have a real conversation with Idril. For the first week or so, she vanished when he appeared, to give him and Tuor a chance to have time together. But he had a feeling it was more than just that.

  She greeted him one evening as he came to meet them for dinner. ‘They’re not back yet,’ she said, apologetically.

  ‘That’s alright,’ he said. ‘Back from…?’

  ‘Just, looking at ships,’ she shrugged, with an attempt at a smile. ‘Eärendil’s fascinated, and if Tuor were an elf, I’d say it was the sea-longing.’

  Perhaps it was. Tuor was fairly close to an elf – being brought up by elves, and marrying one. The only experience he had of human culture was being kept a slave. But also…he clearly _wasn’t,_ and the idea of him having sea-longing was strangely painful. Now he’d just got Tuor back, to remember that in a few short years he’d be gone again…

  ‘Come in,’ Idril offered. ‘I’m sure they won’t be long. I _am_ sorry.’

  ‘He was late to meet Ulmo, I’m not offended,’ said Annael. That drew a fond smirk from her, but not a laugh.

  He sat down. So did she. There was a silence.

  ‘We haven’t really spoken properly,’ she said, apologetically, when it stretched on too long.

  ‘I haven’t intended to neglect you-’

  ‘No, no! You haven’t at all! It was me, I…well, I wanted to make sure you and Tuor had time to talk about whatever you needed to.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘We’ve had a lot to catch up on.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her hands were working at a thread in her sleeve. ‘And…’

  He waited.

  ‘No it’s…nothing. I’m very glad you’re here, it’s incredible that you both – I’m very happy for you.’

  He nodded. ‘I understand.’ _It’s wonderful – but it’s a constant reminder that her father isn’t coming back. And it’s hardly been any time since she lost her home, and her people._

  Sounded familiar, for Sirion.

  She wasn’t a child, so she was sort of outside his realm of expertise. But he took a breath anyway. ‘I don’t know if…well, your people are busy settling in, and I understand there’s a lot to organise. But if you wanted to talk – with or without Tuor – to a kind of, outside ear…’

  She nodded, slowly.

  ‘I might like that,’ she said, quietly. ‘I will…let you know.’

  At that moment, Tuor and Eärendil arrived, the first apologetic, the second more enthused than he’s ever seen him – _Annael, do you know, they have ships here with flat bottoms, and do you know…_

*****

He couldn’t stay away from the orphans forever. Most of them greeted him cheerfully when he appeared at the pools. One or two completely ignored him. A couple gave him a hug and asked about Tuor – but he made sure to answer quietly, and briefly.

  Elwing was there. She was hunting through the pools with a net, this time, and talking to the other children. She patted Illiwen gently on the shoulder to point out that her net was caught, and apologised when she accidentally splashed a boy squatting in the shallows. Still quiet, but not trying to fade into the background as much.

  She brought him three shrimps, and he indicated which bucket to drop them into. She did so, then paused to stare at him.

  ‘Alright?’ he asked.

  ‘You look the same,’ she said.

  ‘…what should I look like?’

  Her mouth thinned. ‘If I had just found some of my family weren’t dead…it would be different to how it is now.’

  ‘Of course it’s different,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘But it’s not different for everyone else. And for lots of them…they don’t want to be reminded.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Elwing, as if this hadn’t occurred to her. ‘I see.’

  ‘I mean,’ he clarified. ‘There’s different ways of remembering things. Remembering that their family will never come back, when my family has…that’s not something anyone wants to be reminded of. But remembering _them –_ remembering their laugh, and the things they said to you…that’s different.’

  Elwing was looking into the bucket of shrimps. ‘But…’

  He waited. He waved off a boy coming to deposit a huge crab, who tiptoed backwards apologetically.

  ‘How do I remember my mother singing to me, and my father’s smile, without remembering they’ll never come back?’ she asked. She glanced up, once, as if she knew there couldn’t be an answer, but had to ask anyway, just in case.

  ‘It…’ he sat down. ‘I don’t know if it ever completely goes away. I didn’t…entirely manage to forget, when I thought Tuor wouldn’t come back.’ He found he was looking at the shrimps too now. ‘I thought he never would. But that was why I kept remembering him, because I thought remembering was all I had. And he was important.’

  There was a long silence. Finally Elwing set her net down. She wasn’t crying, but her hands were shaking.

  ‘Would you like to meet him, and his family?’ Annael asked, on impulse.

  He was completely taken off-guard when she nodded. ‘Yes, alright.’

*****

Perhaps she thought of the people of Gondolin more as refugees because she’d seen them arrive. Perhaps that helped her to see them as people who’d lost as much as she had. But Annael quickly found that he and Tuor were alone again, and Idril and Elwing had vanished somewhere. Annael and Tuor were soon joined by Voronwë and Eärendil, who was full of new ship facts that Annael pretended he’d never heard before. Voronwë reached a hand into his pocket.

  ‘And look what I found.’

  Tuor leaned over. ‘The smallest ball ever created?’

  ‘Marbles,’ Voronwë corrected.

  ‘Marbles are made of glass, not wood.’

  ‘Sadly I only have three, so doubters don’t get to play. Eärendil, Annael?’

  And that was how Idril and Elwing found them when they returned to the house with fresh bread (some already eaten). Annael was a little put out that after knowing Elwing for a few minutes, Idril had managed to take her out shopping, when it had taken him months to get anything from her…but in those months, Elwing had opened up, a little. And Idril was a woman, and someone who clearly understood what Elwing had lost.

  They almost certainly hadn’t talked about that. They’d probably talked about bread, and baking, and the weather, and where the best food could be found in Sirion. But just knowing that she was speaking to someone who understood had probably helped. Helped both of them, actually.

  ‘Elwing, I don’t think you’ve met Voronwë and Eärendil,’ said Annael. ‘Voronwë, Eärendil, this is my friend Elwing.’

  Voronwë looked like he was waiting for some more information to put her into context. But the further information was “of Doriath”, and Elwing didn’t need that label to constantly add pity to people’s first impression. That is, if they didn’t immediately recognise the name “Elwing”. It was possible only the Gondolindrim that didn’t.

  Eärendil smiled. ‘Do you want to play marbles, Elwing?’

  ‘Marbles are supposed to be glass,’ she said, with a frown.

  ‘I know,’ he said regretfully. ‘This one’s quite smooth, you can have this one if you want.’

  She sat down, and took it from his hands. ‘Thank you.’ She kept her eyes on it, and took a breath. ‘My brother Elured was good at marbles.’


End file.
